My father was born and raised on his land,
by the grace of God, he hoped to die there.
And not in some cold lonely hospital room,
or a nursing home confined to a wheelchair.

He would sit in the shade of the maple trees,
looking across the fields he planted for years
The thought of never plowing the soil again,
broke his spirit and filled his eyes with tears

He knew that his life would soon be over
and his work on earth was almost complete.
But before the good Lord called him home,
he wanted to feel the sod beneath his feet.

He started his journey across the fields
where the corn used to grow eight feet tall.
It brought back memories of years gone by,
with his family during harvest time in the fall.

Walking in agony, he knew he'd never return
and with every step, his heart began to pound.
He stopped to look back at the old homeplace,
then grabbed his chest and fell to the ground.

He laid there and stared towards heaven,
as many thoughts raced through his mind.
He asked God to take care of his loved ones
and apologized for leaving them all behind.

With the last beat of his failing heart,
he cried and then took his last breath.
The good Lord had granted him his wish
as his crippled body surrendered to death.